


rag and bone

by shadoedseptmbr



Series: Tales from the Shelterverse [13]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 01:59:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1880829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadoedseptmbr/pseuds/shadoedseptmbr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aeryn is a menace and her friends love her anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	rag and bone

Sebastian sat at Aeryn’s table as they listened to Fenris’ halting baritone read out one of the lessons Aeryn had set. She was working on a stocking, bone needles clicking, homeishly. Her eyes were focused on her own hands and he should have been focused on the words Fenris was reading, the Book of Shartan less familiar to him than most of the Chant, but instead he was thinking of the very precise six inches between him and the length of her thigh.

Close enough to feel her warmth, not quite close enough. He chastised himself for foolishness. Why was he so bothered? 

She reached out to snag up a small metal circle to mark her place and he picked it up to set it into her hand. Aeryn gave him a fond half-smile for his gallantry and when his fingers curled around hers for a moment and he tugged, she slid readily closer until he has her where he craved her, pressed against him.

Their situation had changed, he realized. He was welcome in her home, at this broad oak table and her library and the practice ring in her garden in a way that had been begrudged before. Even Bodahn had relented, opening the door to him as readily as any of the others. Her smiles in all their varying degrees were his and he had the right to hold her hand, occasionally. But one element that had not changed was that Aeryn still required an invitation, his permission to touch him.

Her delicacy in this shouldn’t have rankled. It was as clear an indication of her continued respect for his promises even as they’d grown closer. He couldn’t help the inward sigh, though. He wanted her smiles and her freedom. Most of all, her freedom with him. But it seemed that Aeryn didn’t quite believe it. 

It would take time. Patience. An archer must cultivate patience. Sebastian could almost hear Grandfather’s whisper in his ear, over his shoulder as he trembled to hold the draw until he could feel the wind still around him and the target’s center clear as crystal.

Then again, he had become proficient enough in his skill of late that he could make a shot in a full blown storm. Ah, pride. Ever a downfall.

He stroked the edge of his thumb against the inside of her wrist and felt her stutter, grey eyes smoky when they cut his way, even as she lightly corrected Fenris’ pronunciation of the word ‘hour.’ He’d slid an arm behind her on the bench, stroking the worn linen of her tunic against the skin beneath and as Fenris read a description of the Maker’s Holy Army’s ascent of the cliffs at Ardunton, Aeryn turned her face against his shoulder, hiding a slight yawn before she straightened. 

“I’d let you keep reading, Fenris, but I did promise Aveline we’d meet her by the gates at sunrise.” She reminded them both, apologetically.

“And it is late.” Fenris agreed and hesitated. “I signed on as protection for that caravan tomorrow.”

Aeryn blinked. “Oh, that’s right. Void. I completely forgot.”

 

“I can…”

“No, don’t. Aveline’s jobs never pay decently. It’s Vingler’s run, right?”

“It is.” Fenris nodded.

Aeryn grinned at him. “Don't you dare turn that down on my account, he thinks paying too much is a sign of good fortune and a happy purse.”

“Which is why I took it.”

She leaned against his shoulder. “Go on. We’ll be fine.”

Fenris started to strap the scabbard for his broadsword around his chest only to stop again. “Are you…”

She shooed him off, dramatically. “Yeah, don’t give it a thought. It’s a little nest of bandits. If four of us can’t knock that out in our sleep, we’re slipping.”

“If you’re sure…” Fenris glanced up and Sebastian turned to the side to allow the others a moment. “Don’t stay up all night, Hawke.” 

“I don’t plan on it.” She sounded surprised at Fenris’ scolding, but Sebastian had noticed her yawn, too. And the way she’d rubbed her eyes as Fenris studied.

“You never do.” He finished strapping his blade in place and gave them a wave. “I’ll show myself out, Hawke.”

“Don’t forget the buns Orana sacked up for you.” Pointing to the small linen sack with her free hand, Aeryn used the hand Sebastian held to draw him to his feet as Fenris picked up his bounty. “G’d night.”

He waved at them again as he strolled out the door and Aeryn popped an identical package into Sebastian’s pack. “You, either.”

“There’s no need for her to send me away with food,” Sebastian protested. “The Chantry kitchens are fully stocked.” 

“I know that and you know that, but Orana is convinced the lot of you are a breath away from starvation. Put them in the offering bin outside the gate if you’ve a mind to.”

“Orana’s good sweet rolls all mixed in with yesterday’s porridge and the last of the sprouted wheat?” What an evil thought. He tugged her hand again, and when she came willingly, wrapped her in a tight hug. Her thumb slipped over the edge of the neck of his tunic, though, and Aeryn shifted slightly to place it back on the safe ground of fabric. He placed his hand over it, stilling the jerky movement. 

She pulled back. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be, leannan.” He picked it up to place a kiss there on the rough edge of her cuticle. “I’m not so far gone that the slip of your fingers is going to undo me.” 

“No?”

“No.” He gave her a smirk and waggle of his head. Only a small lie, as the nerves on the small patch of skin just at the edge of his collarbone still tingled. 

“Good to know. Occasionally my hands will get ahead of me.” There was a self-deprecation to that that he needed to address, but she stepped back farther. “You should get back.”

“Aye.” His fingers tightened in hers, as he felt her glance at his mouth. Her own was plump and there was a slight sheen to the soft red skin. Not tonight. Someday. But not tonight.

 

Dawn broke with a hazy gold promise of a hot day to come. Sebastian rushed, late thanks to a long running sermon from Mother Esmerelda, just learning how to narrow down to a point instead of wandering all over the Marches to highlight her thesis.

He slowed down, trying not to appear flustered as he arrived at the gate to find Aveline frowning at Aeryn, who was perched up on the edge of the sentry station. “If you need to, we’ll postpone this.” 

Aeryn’s shoulder twitched slightly. “No, I’m fine. I had a bad night, is all. You know how it goes.”

Aveline appealed to Anders who was likewise bearing his frowning concern to the side of Aeryn’s face, where she’d turned away to look down the Coast road. “Did you take a restorative?”

“You said to lay off them.”

“You’ve had more than two this week?” At her nod, the healer sighed, “Hawke, at least…”

She cut off Anders’ concern bluntly. “I’ve got an appointment at the Gallows tomorrow and who knows what Meredith will have me slagging at. I need to make a run out to the Pit this week, as well.” Aeryn turned her pale eyes, burning silver, on Aveline, “ If you want my help, Ave, you have to let me do it today.”

“Is something amiss?” Sebastian glanced between them as he approached. Usually, Aeryn and Aveline were quite fond of each other and it was unusual enough to see them argue.

She gave him a thin smile. “No. Everything’s fine. Aveline’s just straining her one maternal nerve, this morning.”

“Not likely. I just don’t want to be hauling your exhausted arse down the mountain later.

“The day I can’t outlast you, Guard Captain, is the day I let them light my pyre.” There was little humor and less respect in Aeryn’s snapback and Sebastian looked more closely at her. There was a deep line carved between her eyes and sharp around her mouth and the shadows that lingered around her eyes were darker than they’d been the night before. She’d painted her eyes heavier to hide the worst of it.

Aveline just rolled her eyes. “Maker, you’re an ill-tempered brat. Come on then, I need this taken care of.”

“As I’ve been saying.” Aeryn swung off of the guard’s counter and stalked down the path, leaving the rest to follow her. 

It was a silent trip up to the coast. Aveline was usually quiet but even Anders was feeling the sour mood radiating off of their erstwhile leader and managed to keep his tongue to himself. Sebastian had been humming under his breath, thinking he was far enough behind to be unheard, but a glance from her, cool as a swordblade, silenced him as well.

Aveline’s trouble turned out to be a dissenting arm of the Coterie, too intent on its own profit to follow the guidelines that normally kept the thieves’ guild out of Aveline’s hair. Aeryn knew the ringleader, a slight man with a squint from former days.

They were observing from a ledge, Aveline explaining what she needed as they stood just out of view.

“Void. Do you really need Sark’s confession? What about his second, that tall brunette with the limp and the broadsword. Tirone?”

Aveline grimaced. “She might do. I’d rather…”

Aeryn cut her off. “He’s a poisoner. If we get in view of him one of us is going to end up with a knife full of something toxic. And the whole pass is trapped.”

“It’s worth it, to get him.”

“I disagree.” She turned to Sebastian. “Shoot him.”

“What?!”

“Shoot.” She mimicked a bow pull and then pointed to Sark. “Him.”

“Hawke, there are procedures I need to…” Again, Aeryn cut off Aveline’s arguments, scorn lacing every word.

“You brought me along, Aveline. I’m just going to stab him in the back from the sodding shadows. How is that any different?”

“Can you wound him?” Aveline asked Sebastian.

“I can…but…”

“Varric would have had him dead three minutes ago.” Aeryn smirked to Anders, who barely choked back a revealing laugh. 

Sebastian stared at her, his mouth open. She stared back sullenly, barely lifting her eyebrows and that sharp chin as if to challenge him. Maker’s Breath, they were right. She really was a brat.

He pointedly turned to Aveline. “Guard Captain, what is your order?” If he expected a rise out of Aeryn for his… _was it insubordination?_...he was doomed to disappointment. Her expression had faded back to blank disregard.

“Wound him. Can you disarm the traps?”

“Not without setting some off,” he answered honestly. He didn’t have Aeryn or Varric’s touch with the fiddling innards of traps. 

“Shoot the bastard. I’ll do the traps.” Aeryn disappeared into the underbrush, a pool of shadows drifting behind her.

He saw the shadows crawl around the edge of the thieves’ camp. As he stood to find the angle, the air cooled quickly as Anders pulled up his own trick and Aveline followed Aeryn’s trail down. 

On a count of three as the last trap between them faded, Sebastian pinned Sark through the foot of his purple suede boot. Aveline charged with the cry of Kirkwall on her lips and three of the renegade thieves froze with panic on their faces and ice in their hair as Sark’s second went down with one of Aeryn’s throwing daggers in her throat.

And it was over. Except for Aveline turning on Aeryn while Sark screamed in anger and pain between them. “Alive! Blast and Void, Hawke, I need every word of their confession and I can’t get it from corpses!”

“I missed.” Aeryn sounded incredulous.

“No, you didn’t you little…” It was Aeryn’s wide eyed shock that stopped Aveline.

“I missed, Aveline. I aimed for her shoulder. I had a paralytic on the blade.” Aeryn drew the small blade out and stared at the greenish sheen on the tiny blade before she held it out to show her friend. “And I…misjudged.” Her other hand was covering something on her own shoulder, as if she was rubbing an itch. 

Anders, who rarely stood on ceremony with her, tugged her fingers aside. "Maker's Breath, Hawke! Tell me when..." 

"Aeryn!" She flinched away from Sebastian's concern and Anders shook her a little as he pushed the torn leather farther apart to examine her.

 

"It's just wounding wort." She winced as Anders probed the narrow bloody slice with long slender fingers. "Maybe some deep mushroom." 

"And it would have anyone else on the ground. Hold still." 

Aveline stared at the blade and the notch in the dead woman’s armor as the mage worked. “Only you could miss and still manage to hit a square the size of my thumb,” she sighed before she wheeled around to face Sark, still screeching despite the ward Anders had closed around him. “Shut up. You have no idea how lucky you are, you bloody arse.”

 

They made it back to Kirkwall long before sunset. Anders peeled off before they arrived at the gates, catching the purse that Aeryn tossed him with a wave. 

Aveline handed off the chain on Sark’s bindings to the guard who’d run up to meet them and waited until the prisoner was well away before turning on Aeryn with a glower. She towered over Aeryn’s slim, form. “You.”

“Same as I ever was. Will you arrest me for it, at last?” 

There was a vein of real curiosity in Aeryn’s bleak voice and it drained the last of the outrage out of the Guard Captain. She checked her tongue, glancing at him and shaking her head. “Go to bed, Hawke. Wake up on the other side,” Aveline finally said, dismissing the both of them.

Aeryn turned on her heel and walked through the gate.

He had to lengthen his stride to catch her. 

She glanced up at Sebastian as if surprised to find him still beside her. “Thought you had Chant tonight,” she finally muttered a block past the Chantry square.

They won’t miss me.” Silence stretched out as they walked and he murmured, “but perhaps you won’t either.”

The shadows of her vine-covered portico slanted across her as Aeryn shrugged. “You should do what you want.”

He had never pushed his company on her before. Sebastian ran a hand through his hair then admitted, “I want to spend time with you, leannan, but if you’d rather I stay away, I will.”

She stared at the broken cobble under their foot so long that Sebastian nearly took it for her answer, before she said, “I can’t promise to be good company tonight.”

He raised his eyebrows, wondering if she was joking. “I don’t require entertaining.”

Bodahn opened the door just as she set her hand to the latch, with a practiced air that spoke of long familiarity with his mistress’ habit of lingering on her own doorstep.

The courtyard was dark, the torches left unlit and the air was almost uncomfortably chilly as Sebastian unstrapped his plate and his surcoat and hung them on the rack that Bodahn kept just inside the door. Aeryn shrugged out of her jerkin and boots to pad in her stocking feet across the grey flags. Hurrying, Sebastian sat on the bench to remove his boots as well, his fingers fumbling with the straps in the wake of her chilly silence. 

He noticed as he stood, Sandal hovering in the corner of the courtyard his eyes on his mistress’ back. Normally he gave Aeryn a cheerful report about salamanders or showed her the latest rune he’d been chipping away at while she was away. Sebastian watched as Sandal clutched a glimmering stone in his broad hand and shook his head as Aeryn breezed past him without a glance. “Shiny tomorrow,” he explained to Sebastian in a childishly loud whisper, instead, as Sebastian washed his face and hands in the conveniently placed basin.

“I hope so, Sandal.”

“Too many clouds today.” 

Stalking through the front hall, Aeryn ignored her desk and the pile of letters Sebastian had noticed the day before, now teetering over from Bodahn’s neat stack and spilling across the blotter. One was stabbed through with a tiny throwing knife, pinned to the dark mahogany. Meredith’s latest, he expected.

With hardly a glance at the supper tray that Orana slipped in to set on the sideboard, Aeryn walked straight to the bottle Sebastian had left on the chest a few weeks before as a Satinalia treat. He shook his head when she offered it to him and held his tongue when she shot back a measure and refilled the tumbler before flopping down gracelessly in front of the fire, sucking a splash of liquor off her hand. After a moment, she took a black bladed dagger from the small chest she kept beside it and her whetstone and set to work. 

With the susurrating hiss of the sharpstone as a back drop, Sebastian selected a book from the tall shelf besides the fireplace before carefully settling down on the chaise across from her. It was a selection of tales from Antiva, interesting enough in itself, but he found himself watching her more than he read. 

He’d tended weapons with her before. Usually she was as efficient in her knife care as any task she took up, five strokes on either side, then three, then one. Tonight she hunched over her task, stopping and starting. 

There had been… before her mother died, before their open-hearted conversation about her work for Meeran…times when she’d disappeared. Usually times when they’d come to headers over a Chantry matter. Or Anders. Occasionally a week or two had gone by before she’d come to haunt the narthex and wait for him to join her. 

How often had these dark moods kept her away, instead of some argument he’d conflated?

Five. Five again. And again…then three. She paused, realizing she’d lost count and started over with five as he pretended to read a story about some Crow who’d turned out to be a lost princess of the Dalish. 

She’d done three twice on one side and when her knuckles went tight and bloodless on the grip, her shoulders caving in, he knelt down on the carpet and stopped her hand.

“Can I help at all?”

Aeryn shook her head, her eyes still on her work. “I didn’t sleep well.” As if that explanation covered all ills. “It happens.”

“Perhaps I should let you go to bed, then.”

There was a flash of something desperate in her dulled eyes when she looked up at him, but she answered blandly enough, “If you need to go. I told you I wasn’t very sociable tonight.”

He almost stood. The bleakness hovering around her, the vicious silletto still clutched like a security blanket stopped him. “I’d like to stay a bit longer.”

She nodded and didn’t object when Sebastian pried the knife away and set it aside before he levered himself back into the chaise behind them. Aeryn reached for her abandoned cup.

Flicking back through the book, he found a story about a ship’s journey along the coast and started to read aloud. She sipped slowly as he read the description of a day’s jaunt on an island off of the coast of Rivain with its Dalish ruins in the green depths of the jungle, the crabs they found; bedecked with crystalline spines, the birds with feathers the color of jewels able to use their voices to mimic the Chant sung to them by the explorers. He was reading about the pale turquoise inlet that was warm as a Dwarven made bath when he felt the soft weight of her body leaning against his leg, her red head against his knee. He read a little farther before he stroked his hand along the curve of her skull. Her hair felt ragged and rough under his hand, matted from the sweat of the day’s fight. From this angle, he could see pale blue veins at her temple, curving under her eyes before they ran alongside her mouth. He glanced over at the untouched tray. How often was she letting her supper go cold?

Lost in worry he almost missed the whisper.

“Could I sit with you?”

“Of course.” He held his hand out to her and she took it, rolling up to her knees and then sidling in, just close enough to read the page with him. After she settled, Sebastian continued on until he came to a lavish appreciation of a species of red and white striped fish the voyagers had found in abundance around the island. He paused. “They stock those in the markets of Starkhaven, brought up the Minanter in the spring on great trays of ice.” Closing his eyes for a moment, Sebastian recalled the brilliantly painted stalls of the markets. He’d been able to see them from the top of the wall that surrounded the Keep when he was a boy, teeming with exotic goods and people and noise. The market had been the first place he’d ever run away to.

Suddenly there was warm weight against his side. “What’s it like?” He looked over. Aeryn was staring in to the fire again, biting her lip. As if the question had slipped from her before she realized.

“What’s that?” Only slightly distracting, the feel of her pressed against him all without his insistence. He shifted again to lay an arm across her shoulder. She smelled a bit rank, of old sweat and dirt with little trace of her usual sweet almond. He tightened his arm anyway. 

“Starkhaven?” She waited and when Sebastian tried to answer, she added,” Is Starkhaven like this? Like Kirkwall?” she spit out the last word, as if it was bitter on her tongue.

“No. Oh no. This is…Tevinter built Kirkwall for…intimidation. Starkhaven was built to be the jewel of the Minanter, pleasing to the eye. Even the poorer sections of the city are pleasant; the people have their gardens and the elves have a park around their tree that their homes and shops face.” Sebastian stroked the curve of her shoulder in a small circle against the thin woolen tunic she wore as she leaned into him. “Have you never been anywhere in the Marches but for Kirkwall?”

She shook her head against his chest. “No. More than a day’s march away and I might take it into my head that I didn’t have to come back.” In her low voice, the comment lacked the faint amusement that she was inclined to on better days. “What else?”

He took a deep breath. “Most of the old villas are surrounded by deep parks. My thrice great grandmother planted trees to line the streets and by Summerstide, the sweetspires blooming in every garden blow white petals all over the city like snow drifting. The nobles have a contest every year for the finest streetside display and it’s a tradition to…” Laying the book aside, Sebastian described the summer festival, the almond orchards that would bloom just after the peach blossoms fell and the smell of wheat and lavender that lingered on the air in the heat of summer. Her breathing evened out as he spoke and he dropped his voice as the tension bled out of her body. 

A few moments later, Sebastian brushed the bangs off of her forehead. Aeryn’s eyes were closed lightly, even as her breathing deepened. She turned her face into his shoulder, away from the tickle of hair across her skin. 

He was counting a nearly invisible line of golden freckles, usually hidden by her hairline, when the door swung silently on well oiled hinges and Orana peeked in. A faint surprise crossed her narrow face, quickly chased by exasperation when she saw the laden tray just out of their reach. 

After a moment’s hesitation, she tugged a light grey woven blanket out of a chest by the door and on silent feet crossed the room to lay it softly over her mistress. 

“May I get you anything, m..messere?” Orana whispered her question even as she picked up a small tray table and set it at his elbow and then placed the plate of rolls stuffed with cheese and sausage upon it. 

“Tea, thank you.” He whispered back. It might be a long night. There would be questions to answer when he returned to his duty, Elthina’s disappointment to bear. And…

…perhaps Aeryn would resent this moment, herself. Would resent him finding her so vulnerable, resent his caretaking. That he took it upon himself to play watchguard over sleep she desperately needed.

But just now? Just now he wouldn’t move on Andraste’s order.


End file.
